


Naked heart

by Ilyasviel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gender or Sex Swap, Loki and Thor Are Not Related, M/M, Shapeshifter Loki (Marvel), Shapeshifting, Smut, Thorki is life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, surprise?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 14:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15642906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilyasviel/pseuds/Ilyasviel
Summary: Thor has fallen in love with the beautiful dancer called Mischief since his eyes landed on him, but his advances are giving him a heartache and nothing more after months of pining for him. Tonight he has come to the club to see him again, just to find a surprise that will change his life forever.~~~~~~~~~~Or the stripper AU no one asked for but I had the need to write XD READ THE TAGS, PLEASE!





	Naked heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ziane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziane/gifts).



> I blame completely my dear [Ziane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziane/pseuds/Ziane) because she is the inspiration behind this fic <3 Hope you like it, darling σ(≧ε≦ｏ)
> 
> Other than that, the Thorki virus is still pretty strong in me XD you will have to deal with me and my silly fics for a little longer :P
> 
> This fic is unbetaed so all the typos are mine ;) if you find anything I can correct, please, leave me a comment and I will do it gladly!
> 
> Its been a looooong while since the last time I wrote a F/M scene, I hope I didn't have lost my touch for them XDDD Enjoy my little fic and leave me a comment if you enjoy it <3 I love hearing from my readers!!!

The throbbing lights of the club welcome Thor when the doorman let him in. Electronic music reverberates inside the big space, the several little stages crowded as every night. Dancers from every race and sex are moving sinuously on different states of nakedness, everyone of them dancing to their own song. His weekly visit to the club has turned into a tradition for Thor since the night he has laid his eyes on him. Mischief, they call him, the principal dancer of the club, the one with more followers and the main act of the night for almost every customer. It hasn’t been different for Thor. From the moment his eyes found him, he has been lost. That night, several months ago, the heir of Asgard enterprises needed a distraction, and Fandral convinced him to pay a visit to the club, just to have a drink and enjoy the show. And what a show it has been. They had just found a table to sit when all the surrounding lights turned off, the central stage glowing in different shades of green while a sensual song sounded from the general speakers. The rest of the dancers and the patrons hold their breath, making Thor do the same without realising it. And then he appeared on the stage and Thor’s heart jumped inside his chest. He has never seen someone more beautiful than the man in front of them. Even with the low light around him, his skin seemed to shine with a special glow, pale as the purest pearl. His long black hair falling to the middle of his back, wavy locks that gleamed under the light as if made of silk. He appeared on the middle of the set surrounded by a soft fog, sashaying to the edge of stage with a predatory sway. Their table was close enough to have a good view of the show, and it totally enraptured Thor. His blue eyes moving over the newcomer from tip to toe, stopping briefly in every tiny detail. The long hair surrounded a chiseled face, with high cheekbones framing a regal and perfect nose. The big eyes remained open while he danced, keeping eye contact with the customers around him, giving a wink or a sweet smile here and there while he danced. His beautiful face was just the tip of the iceberg. Below it, a perfect and long neck ends in a set of well defined shoulders. The thin straps of the tank top he was wearing only emphasising the muscles on his chest and arms. The shirt barely touched his navel, leaving his thin waist bare to Thor’s eyes. His eyes followed the curve of his body, the hip bones peeking from under the trousers distracting him before letting his eyes keep moving down. Those two long legs, encased in dark and green leather, seemed to last forever. The skinny trousers leaving almost nothing to his imagination, showing the curve of his cock pressed against his hip, the hardness of it visible even in that distance. And when the dancer turned around, Thor almost faints. The perfection of that ass must be sinful. Round and muscled, begging for a good grab, and swaying to the music with a perfect rhythm. Yes, Thor has fallen prey of his spell since that first night.

 

Tonight he has come alone, his visits turned into a habit. He has a table reserved for him near the central stage, a waitress waiting for him near it, ready to serve. His work didn’t let him plan his visits as much as he will like it, being this the first time he has made it in almost ten days. They reserve the spot for him every night anyway, thanks to his name and the generous amount of money he spends here in every visit. He treats with tips the dancers he enjoys, the waitresses, even the doorman. Money had no value to him, and after the effort he makes daily to gain and keep it, he enjoys spending it as he seems convenient. And right now, that means sending bouquets of white roses to Mischief, buying him good wines and trying to buy him clothes and jewels. But the dancer has kept his distance, knowing his place as a distant piece of art, not wanting to be another head hanging on the walls on the heir’s collection. How wrong of him to think that way. Thor was enamoured with him, but even in his dazzled state, he will never do or say anything to make the dancer uncomfortable, and so he keeps his pace, expecting someday Mischief will look at him with better eyes. 

 

Daphne, his usual waitress, come closer while he sits on his usual place, “Good night, my friend. Same as always?”

 

Thor smiled to her. Since that first night, she has been his waitress, being the one who help him stay in contact with the dancer without breaking the laws of the club. “Yes, please. I’m on time for his show?”

 

She looks over his shoulder to the main stage, where the team is getting it ready, “I’m sorry but he is not dancing tonight. Remember I told you he never does it two days in a row?” Disappointment can be read on Thor’s face clear as the neon letters over the club’s door. “But don’t look sad so early, my friend. You have never seen her show. I’m sure you will love it.” She left the table with swift steps, leaving Thor to dwell on his own mind about the lost opportunity and trying to see how he can come back tomorrow to see him again. By the time she come back, the lights are diminishing, signaling the beginning of the show. She slides a bourbon glass in front of him, moving closer to whisper in his ear when the first notes of the song break the silence, “If you didn’t enjoy her as much as you do him, I’ll pay for that expensive drink, deal?”

 

“You know I will not let you pay for my venom, my dear, but let’s hope you are right.”

 

Daphne pats him in the arm before stepping away, leaving the view of the stage clear for him. And not a moment too late because then the black mass of wavy hair raises from the ground. Long, very long hair that shine with its own light, a black cascade of silky locks contrasting with the light green cape covering the rest of her body. She is giving her back to the audience, her hips and shoulders moving with the bass of the song, the hair reaching past her hips and moving with her like a living thing. The music change, sensual violins taking the lead, and her white and perfect hands storming from under the cape to swing around her, as if directing an invisible orchestra. Long fingers trace invisible figures in the air, the shift of her hands translating to the sways of her hips, the cape flowing around her, giving the audience short glances of her pale legs. With another change on the music, she looks over her shoulder, her piercing eyes searching around the club as if she was looking for someone. And then she founds Thor, and he forgets how to breathe, how to think, heart stopping in his chest for several seconds. The dancer keeps her eyes focused on him while she turns around, facing the crowd at last. If Mischief’s looks have impressed Thor that first night, this new show didn’t fall behind. She has the cutest face, with big eyes and a beautiful nose over a pair of dark plump lips. Her skin is pale as marble and even at this distance Thor bets it will be silky like it under the touch. Her mouth is twitched up in a perpetual grin while she dances, the cape still in place around her shoulders, hair falling around her like a second coat. Then she raised both hands, clapping them over her head. The club falls into full darkness for a second, not a single sound disturbing the silence over the echo of her clap. Soft green light grows in intensity in the stage, a spotlight lighting up her. She has unknotted the cape, the material pooling on her feet while she keeps dancing on her own world, the silence still complete around them. Her body was a masterpiece too, perfectly round where it needs to be and well-defined on the rest. Strong arms surround a perfect set of generous breasts encased in a black and green corset, laced with neon yellow cords. Her waist is so slim Thor knows he can engulf it with his hands completely if she let him, and the simple thought brings a shudder to his spine. He lets his eyes go lower, to the long legs covered in fishnet stockings and secured with a garter belt. The black stilettos where the perfect touch, decorated with a tiny neon yellow ribbon to match the corset. 

 

Time seems to stop at her will, making everyone inside the room to hold their breath until her next move. When she raised her hands to clap again, the lights around her intensifies, as the fog around her ankles grow thicker, the shape of green and yellow snake painted on the smoke behind her. Once the light is to her liking, she nods, and the music blares again, and then Thor swears his mind stops working. The dancer keeps her piercing gaze focused on him, not a single doubt about it, swinging her hips to the rhythm of the bass, taking a step to the edge of the stage every few moves, advancing inexorably to Thor, who can only wish he isn’t dreaming the predatory gleam on her eyes. And then she is just in front of him, and he gets lost in the green pool of her eyes, piercing and deep, talking to him of unknown truths and darker secrets. The dancer stops mere feet from where Thor is sitting, and dances for him, the mischievous smile on her face only growing when he sees the way he is clutching the glass of bourbon, white-knuckled fingers grasping it for dear life while his mouth is half open in awe, his body trying to understand the onslaught of feelings. She was like a dream, a sinful goddess sent to corrupt him, and he will let her gladly. His treacherous mind pictures him caged in those long legs, with them wrapped around his hips while he ravished her against the first vertical surface they can find. She must have read his intentions on his eyes, because the grin only grows, and she winks at him before turning over her heels, giving him a perfect view of her too-perfect-for-this-world ass. But even while she draws invisible symbols on the air with her fingers and hips, she never breaks eye contact with Thor, the man totally under her spell.

 

The song reaches a crescendo, and the beautiful dancer sigh, before blowing a kiss to Thor. He senses it like a real thing, the skin on his face heating with the imaginary touch, but he didn’t care. She is dancing her way back to the center of the stage, where she turns and turns on her tiptoes, the movements graceful for someone who wears the long and painful looking stilettos. Her hair follows her, painting her body with dark lines that only makes her paleness more real. The music ends suddenly, a bright green light shining from the back of the stage, and the next heartbeat, the dancer is no more, the fog dissipating from the spotlight. A few seconds more of deep silence and then the full club breaks loose, clapping and cheering. Thor joins the blast, the bourbon resting on the table at lalst, untouched. When the roar diminishes, the other dancers take back their place on the side stages and the sound of the music fill the silence again. Daphne was there with a knowing smile on her face, “I knew you will like her. She is something different, our Serpent.”

 

“That’s an understatement, my dear. I didn’t know how I have never known about here until now.”

 

The waitress feigns herself occupied cleaning the already clean table where Thor is sitting, “I know how mesmerised you are with Mischief, and so I called you here on his show days, but the gods have wanted you to meet her tonight.” Daphne raises her face to look at Thor and instead her eyes focus on somewhere behind him, the smirk on her face growing, “And it seems she has her eyes on you too. Good luck, my friend.” With a path on his shoulder, she disappears from his field of view, and just then the hair on the back of his nape stood, forcing him to turn and look over his shoulder. 

 

Serpent is coming his way, her clothes changed to a green tunic, hanging from her right shoulder with a snake pin and falling around her body like a second skin, long legs darting between the silk with every step. Unable to move, Thor just stares her moving closer, sensing the focused gaze while she moves directly to him, disregarding any intent of conversation from the rest of the patrons. “Good night.”

 

Her voice was deep and rich, with the same accent than Mischief, which together with her colouring makes him believe they will share an origin. “Good night, indeed.” Thor keeps looking at her, still not believing she has come to meet him after the show, when the raising of her brow forces him back to the actual situation, “Oh, sorry.” He stands as swift as possible, moving to the chair in front of his, pulling it apart for her, and she graciously takes it, the smile coming back to her face. With care, he guides her closer to the table, and before he can sit again, Daphne is back with a glass of wine, the red liquid glowing under the lights while she rolls the glass in her long fingers, sniffing it softly before taking a sip. Thor tries to make the correct presentation after his disastrous start up, “My name is--”

 

“I know who you are, Thor Odinson.” Her tongue drags his name with a sultriness that makes his fingers twitch, “I know perfectly who you are, my dear. Even if it is the first time we saw one another, I know you. Mischief talks about you, all day long.” The way she rolls her eyes saying it makes Thor shiver. He talks about him? To his fellow dancers? Shame fills him, thinking on the mocking way the dancer must talk about the insistent customer who didn’t takes a no for an answer, coming back again and again like a kicked puppy. It must have shown on his face, again, because she moves her hand to pat the fingers clutching the bourbon glass again, the caress making goosebumps appear on Thor’s skin, “Don’t fret, my dear. He talks beautifully of you, in fact he makes the rest of us envious. And now that I have been on the other side of your gaze, I can understand him.” She winks at him over the rim of her glass, taking a sip while letting the words sink on his brain.

 

Mischief talks fondly of him? Then why he never accepts his advances? Why he never spends with him more than half an hour, and never outside the walls of the club? The long week of work takes its toll on him, making him say aloud what he must not, “Glad to know my attentions give you something to talk. It must be a fun thing to do after the show.”

 

Thor can hear her sigh over the bass of the music, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Odinson. He is fond of you, but has the stupid rule to not get involved with our customers, as much as he wants it sometimes.” He sinks even more in the chair. Her words pierce his heart, thinking on the long nights pinning for someone who will never act upon it. Serpent leans on the table, distracting him with the sway of her hair before resting her elbows on it and moving as closer as possible, beckoning Thor with a finger. He goes like a lost dog making her giggle, “But you know… I’m not bound to that stupid rule. Want to have a taste of the forbidden fruit of Jotunheim?”

 

The words sink slowly on Thor’s brain. She is offering herself to him? “If this is any kind of joke, I can assure you it is not funny, my dear.”

 

“Why I will joke about it, Odinson? Don’t you have mirrors in your high castle? You are a treat for the eye, and probably sweeter to the mouth. You are kind and well-mannered, even the lowest member of the staff talks fondly of you. And the way you eat me alive while I was dancing tells me you want me too. Why I must stay away then? If you didn’t want me it is something else.”

 

Thor’s brow can go higher in his face, her words making him gasp before draining his glass in a long gulp. He lets himself get lost in her eyes for a few seconds, the warmth of the bourbon heating him from the inside while his body reacts to the images her words are bringing to his brain. He tries to distract himself changing the topic, “Mischief never told me he is from Jotunheim.”

 

“My dear Mischief can be a silly shy thing when he wants, even if he bares his soul to the world with every dance. But I’m not the kind to keep myself under the same knots.” She stands from the chair before finishing her wine, cleaning the drops from her plump lips with the tip of her tongue. She takes a step away from the table, looking over her shoulder, “Are you coming?”

 

She didn’t wait for his answer, walking directly to the back door of the club, the one that leads to the private areas. He has used them sometimes, when he has gathered the courage to order for a private dance from Mischief, only to spend the time talking with him about books or movies, sipping their drinks while the soft music covers the silence. He knows he is pinning for that man, but her words make him see how impossible it was. Mischief will never take him while he is a customer of the club, but hasn’t ever asked for him to stop being it. Thor will gladly forget about his weekly visits, the only reason behind them is to have a glimpse of the object of his desires. After the months he has spent visiting him, washing him in presents and his company as often as possible, and getting nothing in return, now he has a change to enjoy himself and maybe forget the heartache the thought has brought to him. Raising slowly from the chair, he follows her, giving enough money to cover both the drinks to Daphne while passing beside her, the waitress smiling at him and giving him a thumbs up when he waves to her. Serpent was waiting for him near the door, arms crossed under her breasts, making the silk hug them in a mesmerising way. Thor stood in front of her, the dark goddess of a woman taller than he has expected, reaching his eyes thanks to the high-heeled sandals she was wearing. They didn’t talk a single word more while she unlocks the door, guiding him inside to a hallway. The sound of the club almost disappears when the door closes behind them, but she keeps her lips shut while walking to the back, guiding him to the private area of the club where the dancers had their dressing rooms. The last room of the hallway has a snake painted on it, and they stop in front of it while she opens the door. Stepping aside, she invites him to walk inside. He does it, letting his eyes roam around the room. It is bigger than he has expected, with a big black couch on a corner and a full wall of mirrors on the opposite side of the door. Clothes racks are distributed around the room, with dresses, capes and trousers alike hanging from them. But she didn’t give him time to get his bearings on the new surroundings. With steady steps, she invades his space, the spicy perfume she wears filling his senses. A cold hand rest on his chest and he can notice it even through the layers of clothes. That same hand pushes him insistently and makes him walk backwards until his knees collide with the couch, falling on it with a huff. Serpent stays on her feet in front of him, dilated eyes focused on him, “A treat for the eyes, indeed. I can’t wait to unwrap you like a candy.”

 

Her green gaze locks Thor eyes, who is lost on them while his heartbeat spikes inside his chest. It is happening for real. And for once, he pushes his worries aside and lets his body and desires take control. He has been pinning for a dark beauty for months and now he knows it will never be more than that, with Mischief rules. Here and now, Serpent wants him, and she is like the softer version of the one who plagues his dreams. With a deep breath, he lets himself fall back more comfortably on the couch, and it seems to be the signal she has been waiting. The long fingers slide up from her hips, caressing the curves of her body on her way up and making Thor envy. When she reaches the shoulder, her deft fingers make a quick work of the pin securing the layers of her tunic, freeing it. The show the falling silk gives Thor is one of the best things he has ever seen. Her pale skin glows with the soft light of the room. Perky pink nipples appear when the silk falls from them. Thor lets his eyes follow the clothes to the ground, enjoying the way they pool around her feet, before moving his gaze slowly up, taking in every detail of her body, now under a different light. While his eyes roam higher and higher, she uses the same pin that has been securing her clothes to tie her hair in a high bun, baring her neck and shoulder to Thor’s eyes. “You are too perfect to be real.”

 

With feline flair, she closes the distance to him, kneeling on the couch until she is straddling his legs, both hands resting on the strong chest, “My dear, I’m as real as you want me to be.”

 

The low growl from Thor making her giggle before his strong hands finds a new home on her back, pushing her closer until her breast are plastered against his chest instead of her hands, their breath mingling, “Sometimes when a dream turns real it changes from its original shape.”

 

Her long fingers move to cup the bearded face, hot lips caressing the ones in front of her with every word, “Let me help you forget him.” She kisses him then, full and deep, nothing sweet between them but pure passion. And he returns every swipe of her tongue, every bite of her teeth, every tiny peek of her lips. His hands keep her in place, one on her lower back, with a pinky sliding shyly under the black underwear, while the other keeps her pinned to his chest with long fingers splashed between her shoulder blades. But soon it is not enough to neither of them if the way their hips move at unison looking for some friction. Serpent breaks the kiss, pushing herself up. The show of her reddened lips and blushed face making Thor gasp. Perfection can’t enclose the meaning of what she is, with the pearly skin shining with a thin layer of sweat, the gleaming eyes and red lips, the soft pink of her blush going down to her chest. He was so lost in her presence he didn’t register her fingers working on his shirt until her nails scratch his naked chest. The loud moan he gives at the sensation makes her growl, startling him when her nails cut deeper in the strong pecs of his chest. “You are like one of those perfect statues on the museums, Thor. All hard lines and well-defined muscles.”

 

“And you want to mark me for the rest to see, Serpent?”

 

She lays back on him, her breasts now resting on his naked chest and making him whine, “Loki. My name is Loki. I want you to scream it while I ravish you, Thor Odinson.”

 

Thor slides a hand between them, grabbing a breast on it and palming it, his big palm and fingers covering it perfectly, “Loki…”

 

The sound of her name on his tongue makes her moan, and the feel of his hand on her only  adds to the charm of the moment. Soon they are fighting with the rest of Thor’s clothes, lowering the pants to his halves but not giving him the chance to take them off. She is too restless for that. Straddling him again, she let the now bare cock to nest on his covered mount, moaning into the kiss when it presses against her clit with every twist of her hips. Thor’s hands has move back behind her, but now move lower and lower until he is grabbing an ass cheek on each hand. He uses the grasp he has on her to pull her down, forcing her more against himself and extracting a low moan from her which he drinks as avidly as he has done with his bourbon mere minutes ago. His right hands slides even lower, until his fingers are touching the wet material between her thighs, making her head fall back with a mewl. Thor draws little circles over her mount, enjoying the moisture he knows he has put there with his presence and kisses. With a swift move from his fingers, he slides under the wet lace, the moment his fingertips contact with the heated core makes both moan. The angle is awful, but he can work with it, and so he goes, his middle finger slipping inside her easily before moving back and searching for her clit, teasing at it with light pressure while his thumb replaces the finger inside her. Serpent-- Loki, Thor corrects himself, has found a new home on Thor’s neck, breathing him in with every breath while she takes her pleasure on his fingers. The sounds she makes… Thor wants more of them, and so he pulls her up to get better access, moving his hand to the front and delving two fingers inside her unceremoniously, while his free hand plays with the hardened nub of her nipples, his fingers moving from one to the other while she fights to breathe between moans. If he has been mesmerised by her before, now he is in a trance. She was beautiful like this, all sweaty and breathless, with his name breaking free from her lips now and then, hips moving to keep pace with Thor’s fingers, fucking herself against him. Her moans grow louder with every push of his fingers inside, with every circle of his thumb on her clit. Thor wants to undo her, and for that nothing better than make her come in his arms. A third finger joins the rest, and he keeps its pace, exchanging his hand on her breast with a questing mouth, sucking at those rosy treats with abandon. It seems to do the trick because seconds later she roars her name to the ceiling, her walls constricting Thor’s fingers inside her while she comes. His hand keeps working on her until she whines in protest, Thor’s head being pulled from her chest by questing fingers. “You have deft fingers, Odinson.” 

 

Thor chuckles before sucking the still drenched fingers on his mouth, the salty flavour of her making him moan greedily. By the time his hand is clean, she is panting over him, the green of her eyes almost disappeared behind the dilated pupils. She has been biting her lower lip as if trying to keep her own sounds at bay. With a grin growing on his face, Thor uses the same hand to trace a line from her chin to her navel, leaving a trail of wetness behind his fingertips, “Happy to serve, my dear.”

 

“Glad to hear it.” With wobbly legs, she crawls away from him until the sound of her tiny heels touching the ground reaches Thor. Serpent stands, her nakedness even sweeter with the layer of sweat on her body and the wetness dripping from her core. She steps back, careful of not stepping in their scattered clothes, “Now I want you to serve me against that wall, Thor. I’m sure those strong arms of you can deal with it.”

 

Mere seconds is what he needs to pulls off his shoes and trousers, pilling them on the floor beside the couch before pursuing her. Serpent is already waiting for him against the wall, the panties lost on her way here. Thor’s shirt is still on place, open and hanging low from his shoulders, but he didn’t care about it. The way her eyes glow with mischief at the sight of him… She is enjoying the show. Once he reaches her, he uses both arms to cage her, forcing her to look up and get lost in the dark blue gaze. For several moments, they simply  stay there, sharing their air, breathing the other in and out, but then her hand was on his cock, sliding a condom on him with secure hands. Oh, the touch of her fingers is undoing Thor more than he has planned, and for a moment he has to close his eyes and lean on the wall, hips bucking into her touch greedily. She gives him the time he seems to need, just resting against the wall without even touching him, but he can feel her eyes on him every single second of waiting. At last, he has recovered enough to open his eyes, finding her waiting for him, tongue wetting the half-open lips. Thor tries to control himself, but those lips are screaming at him to take her and never let go, and so he does. He locks their mouths with enough force to make her whine, first in discomfort, then in pleasure when the onslaught is meet swipe by swipe with her questing tongue. Long and soft arms surround Thor’s neck, and he takes the hint, positioning his legs better before standing to his full height, dragging her with him. Her legs wrap on Thor’s hips the next heartbeat, and soon he has her pinned against the wall with all the weight of his body, the hotness of her core teasing his hard member with every little twitch of their bodies. She breaks the kiss head rolling back to the wall while she gasps for air, “Now fuck me, Thor Odinson. Fuck me as hard as you will do to him if he would allow you.”

 

The growl Thor gives her preludes the pressure of his heated cock on her core, and he pushes inside with a swift move of his hips. The previous session has let her wet and ready, but she still moans loudly at the intrusion. He is big and hard as a rock, piercing her and reaching places no one usually touches. Serpent gasps and moans, breathless and unable of articulate something longer than Thor’s name, long fingers clawing to his back and her nails marking his skin even with the shirt material between them, He uses his chest to keep her against the wall, hands grabbing the perfect ass on the exact angle he wants it, pouncing into her with a purpose, thrusting hard against her, enough to press her clit with his pelvic bone every time he buries himself to the hilt.

 

Sooner than neither of them will want, the pressure on their bodies reaches the exploding level, with Serpent yelling Thor’s name while her cunt clenches around his hardness. He follows suit seconds later, his face hiding on the crook of her neck while he mutters a name. Even in her dazzled state, she understands the whispered word, ** _‘Mischief’_** and she can’t stop the little smile growing on her face. When their breath recovers some kind of normalcy, Thor eases his pressure against her, folding his legs until he is kneeling on the ground with her still nested on his lap. Serpent caresses his hair sweetly, making him sigh on her skin. When at last he talks, the pain can be heard on every syllable, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry, darling. I will ask you one favour in exchange, even if the pleasure has been payment enough.”

 

Thor raises her from him to let his cock slip out, making her sigh at the loss, before maneuvering them until his back is resting on the wall and she is sitting on his lap, “Whatever you want.”

 

Her smile will blind a sun when she climbs him enough to kiss his nose, “Come back tomorrow night. Talk to him, really talk to him. He can be a bit dense for the issues of the heart.” Serpent’s fingers tangle into his blond locks, moving his head back until she is breathing his air, lips almost touching him when she talks, “And whatever happens, I’ll be here for you if you need me. Deal?”

 

The little shiver running up and down his spine must be enough answer, but he voices him anyway, “I’ll try.”

 

“Is the only thing I ask for, Thor.” A sweet smile grows on her face before she kisses him, letting his worries drain away with the softness of her kiss and her body. Tomorrow will be a new day, full of opportunities.

 

 

Thor’s day has been a living nightmare. Fandral has noticed he has been away from their shared flat for almost all the night, and reached the wrong conclusion, congratulating him for his advances with Mischief, until his long face has told him more than his mouth. After some pestering and lots of chocolate and waffles, Fandral extracted the full story from him, and his friend hasn’t known if pat his back in praise or pity. He even offered to come with him to the club, but Thor has turned him down with a sad smile, whatever will happen tonight, it has to be his work. He has been utterly distracted at work, arriving late to all his meetings, forgetting to get launch until Sif has stormed in his office with a sandwich and a coke, ready to force him to eat it. She knows something is bothering him but didn’t prod, knowing he will talk to her when he feels like it, choosing instead to talk about the meeting of next week. He can’t be grateful for his friends.

 

But now he is standing at the door of the club, his full attire dark as his mood. The doorman raises a brow at him when he sees him hesitating to take the last step, but give the man time to make his time, keeping the door open for him. Thor takes a deep breath at last, nodding at the man while passing by the doorframe. The club is like every night since that first one, dozens of customers roaming around the area with the dancers colouring the background with the textures of their skins and clothes. Daphne sees him standing near the entrance, eyes unfocused in anything but looking at everything around him. Seeing him here tonight does not surprise the waitress, but his behaviour is strange. With a steady pace she closes the distance to him, bending her waist until she forces her face in his field of view, “Hey hon! Back so soon? Have you missed little old me? ”

 

Thor’s mouth twitches up without noticing, the sweet smile on her face always putting him at ease, “I always miss you, my dear.”

 

“Good to know. Now follow me, I have your table ready, as always.” She slips her arm around Thor’s pulling him to the table beside the main stage, patting his hand when she notices how she stiffens at the sight of the stage. What the heck has Serpent done to him? She shakes her head before helping him to the chair and walking to the bar after blowing him a kiss. The barman has the bourbon ready when she arrives, knowing well the tastes of Thor for the strong and sweet liquor. She picks it up with a nod and goes back to him, planting the glass in front of him with a flourished move, “Your venom of choice, my prince.”

 

He has to smile at last, she always makes him smile with her words and the way her Vanir accent drags them. “Thank you, my dear.”

 

Daphne beams at him, patting his shoulder before lowering her face to whisper on his ear, “You are welcome. Now get ready, love. The girls said Mischief has prepared something very special for tonight.”

 

Those words make Thor world collapse again. The reality of what he has promised Serpent to do pushing him down the water and making him feel as drowning, doubts and regret filling his chest. He can’t dwell on the feelings for long, lucky him. The lights around them turn off when Daphne’s hand has left his shoulder. Silence only broken by the sound of someone resting a glass on a table surround him. Then the soft voice of violins grown slowly, the song sweet and melodic, something he hasn’t ever heard on the club before. At the back of the stage a door opens, the light from it blinding the customers for some seconds. When Thor’s eyes grow accustomed to it, he can see a shadow framed on the light. A high figure covered in a feathered cape is standing in the doorframe. He didn’t need to see his face to know him. Mischief, the oblivious owner of his heart. Even in this semi darkness and with light blinding him from behind, he will recognise him: the way he walks, how proudly he stands over his heels, the sway of his hips, the curve of his shoulders. With the crescendo of the music, the figure leaves the door, walking to the center of the stage, the cape flowing behind it, the feathers shining under the light that grows brighter around him. The dancer reaches the center, a spotlight lightning him and showing the world his beautiful features. His dark hair has been half braided to one side of his face, the rest of it falling over his shoulder. A silver band decorates his forehead, green gems hanging from it and falling between his brows. The same jewels are pinned on the gleaming braid, giving him a regal look that took Thor’s breath away. The violins of the song halts, changing to a deep bass in a crescendo, and Mischief sways his hips at the new rhythm, the cape flowing with every move of his body. And then, when a new sound mixes itself with the bass, Mischief pulls back the cape, letting it pool behind him while he steps forward. Shiny black latex covers completely his body. Every muscle, every curve, every shape of him is in full display for the onlooker, and Thor gasp at the show. He has seen him in different states of clothing, from almost naked to fully clothed, and even after all these months, he has never seen him so fully like tonight. Thor knows his mouth must be opened in awe, his eyes following every move of the dancer around the stage. He is not just dancing to the music as he usually does. He is enjoying it, turning over his bare feet like the dancer he is, hands raising to the ceiling while he turns and turns, legs raising up before his full body falls to the ground, where he bends and twist. Thor has never seen a show like that. It looks personal and too perfect for a place like that. In his mind, Thor is seeing him in a big theatre, showing the virtuosity he knows the dancer has to a willing public, one who was there to enjoy the way he flows with the music and not his body or the dreams it conjures. 

 

Just like yesterday, the dancer in the main stage stops in front of Thor’s table, with Mischief smiling at him that private grin he only gives him when they are alone. The next moves of his hands are painted in front of him, those long fingers drawing unknown signs on the air, the gleam of his black nails catching the light and adding a new layer to the enchanting dance. Thor’s insides twitch at the view. His heart has been pinning for him since he laid his eyes on him, and now, even knowing nothing exist between them, he feels like he has betrayed him. With a sigh, he lowers his eyes and focus on the drink on his hands, taking his eyes from him. He can’t think with Mischief close, and more tonight.

 

The bourbon keeps rolling inside the glass and Thor loses himself in his own world, eyes fixed on it while the words try to form coherent phrases on his brain. What can he say to him? Has he not been clear enough before? If the dancer hasn’t been interested in him when he has been clearly wanting him, what good will bring if he tells him he has fucked his fellow dancer because he needed to forget him for a while? Sure, that speech will work beautifully…

 

“Brooding didn’t suit you, Thor.”

 

That voice makes him almost jump, the golden liquid spilling over the brim with the suddenness of his movement. Sitting on the opposite chair on the table lays Mischief, wearing a dark emerald buttoned shirt with a black tie. His hair is free from the previous braid, falling around his gorgeous face like a halo. Thor’s breath gets caught on his chest, heart stopping beating while he takes the image into his brain. The lopsided grin, the crossed arms, the raised brow… everything about him is perfect and intriguing, and Thor wants to know everything about him, wants to speak with him for hours, wants to count the stars on the night sky, one by one, for the rest of the eternity, knowing his company will bring him peace. A sad sigh escapes his control before he can’t silence it. Mischief keeps staring him, long manicured fingers tapping his arm, waiting. “It’s been a long day.”

 

Daphne appears with some napkins for Thor and a new glass of bourbon for him. He is giving the waitress his thanks when Mischief takes a sip of the drink she has served him. The way those long fingers grab the wineglass, how he turns it to oxygenate it before taking a tiny sip, closing his eyes to savour it. Everything makes Thor think on Serpent, and it makes his stomach twitch almost painfully. Life is not being fair with him. He pins for who didn’t want him, and can’t stand to have the one who wants him. 

 

After some minutes of uncomfortable silence, Mischief stands from the chair and moves around the table until he stands beside Thor. He leans on it, his leg close enough for Thor to notice the warmth he emanates, “Serpent said you wanted to talk with me tonight. But now that I’m here, you can’t even look at me.” He sighs then, hands falling to fidget with the tip of his tie, “I know you have been with her. I will understand if you want to stop your visits and focus on her. She has been always less complicated than me.”

 

“No!” That simple word is the only one Thor is capable of, his eyes fixed on the sad frown on Mischief’s face. The dancer is looking at him with surprise on his face, but his hand is still toying with the tie, the nervous behaviour something Thor hasn’t ever seen in him. “No, please. It is not like that. Don’t think it for a second.”

 

Now is Mischief’s turn to sigh, heralding the swift move he does to separate himself from the table. His hand rests on Thor’s shoulder for a moment, tightening the grip until the blond man faces him, “Come with me, Thor. We need to talk, don’t you think?”

 

The dancer didn’t wait for him, just as she has done the past night. Thor lets his head fall to the table with a thud, the drink forgotten on his hand. He squabbles with himself in a low mutter, “Come on, Odinson. You can keep your place with the sharks on every meeting you attend, and now you are afraid to talk with him? Man up and face your actions!” When he raises his head, Daphne is there, waiting for him, and he gives her a shy smile before emptying the glass on his hand. His hand goes to his pocket, but she shakes her head, saying that Mischief had paid for the drinks. That surprises Thor, and by the way she has her brow arched, she must be surprised too. With a last deep breath, he pushes back the chair and stands from the table, giving her his thanks and walking to the private area. Mischief is waiting him there, talking with the owner of the club who is not looking thrilled. The dancer is rolling his eyes at her and pushes her to one side when Thor moves closer. “We can continue with that enlightening conversation tomorrow, Amora. Now, if you excuse me, I have an appointment.” The owner, a dark haired woman looks angry as a snake ready to attack but just steps aside with a polite nod to Thor before striding away from them. “Sorry about that. Will you come inside?”

 

“Sure.” Mischief smiles at him before opening the door, letting Thor step ahead and closing the door behind him. Once inside the hallway, they walk to the end, and something inside Thor dies when they stop in front of the one painted with a snake. 

 

Mischief sees it, and just shakes his head while opening the door, “We share the room. We never are here at the same time and it sounded selfish on our part to occupy a room for ourselves if we will only use it only half the time, don’t you think?”

 

His reasoning is good, but the moment Thor lays his eyes on the couch he can only picture himself on it, half dressed and being ravished by the dark beauty, one that his mind has distort enough to make it look like Mischief. And so he hums his understanding before following him inside. Trying to not let his mind get lost in his memories, Thor goes to a corner he hasn’t visited yesterday, the mirror wall where the vanity lays. It is filled with the jewels Mischief has wore on his hair during the show, with some other jewelry scattered around it. But what surprises more Thor is to find every one of his presents perfectly ordered on a side glass cabinet. Even the flowers are preserved on it. The ugly feeling of betrayal grows on Thor’s stomach, and he closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them again, he sees Mischief sitting on the armrest of the couch, facing him with his hands interlaced on his lap, waiting for him. 

 

When nothing happens for several minutes, Mischief sighs louder than before. He stands then, moving to one of the clothes racks and undone the knot of his tie, “I can see you are not in the mood to talk, Thor. Feel free to leave whenever you want.”

 

Thor almost falls over his own feet when he hears the words. Leaving is the last thing he truly wants, but is hard to let the words flow. “Is not like that, Mischief. I want to, but the words keep fighting me.”

 

“Can I help?”

 

The softness on those words is Thor’s undoing. He is being awful to the person he wants to be sweet and perfect. His eyes close and he rests against the vanity, fixing his eyes on him, on the beauty that holds his heart so tightly without noticing it. “Will you let me finish my speech before saying your part? I can’t ask for more.” Mischief looks surprised but only nods before moving back to the couch and falling on it, the first buttons of his shirt undone and the shoes and tie lost between their words. “Thanks. Well, I believe I didn’t need to say you aloud how I feel about you, right?” The lopsided grin on the dancer comes back, making Thor roll his eyes at him, but joining him, “Fine. I promised her I’ll do it. I believe I’m madly in love with you. And after months of pinning, she appeared and his eyes are the same green as yours, her hair as soft as yours, her skin as pale and perfect as yours… my body betrayed me and I took from her what I can’t have from you. It was fun, don’t think otherwise, but it-- it wasn’t you. Now I feel awful about everything. With me for letting me fall into the trap of the flesh, for using her, for betraying what I’m supposed to be fighting for--”

 

“Are you finished?” 

 

Thor world freezes at those words, at the harsh tone he hears behind them, and then he hears the cracks on his reality falling around him. He has done it. He has destroyed the little thing they have and it will never be back. Raising slowly from the vanity, he walks to the door with his head low, “I’ll take my leave then. Good night, Mischief.”

 

Green light materialised in front of him, startling Thor, who steps back before the form of Mischief appears in front of him instead of the green fog. “Where the hell are you going?”

 

“You-- I--”

 

“Oaf.” The dancer steps inside Thor’s personal space, arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him down the few inches that separate them, “Stop brooding and kiss me, you idiot.”

 

Thor didn’t need to be told twice. His arms catch him and pull him closer, fingers entangling with the soft hair of his nape before tilting that beautiful face to one side and locking their lips. He tastes of wine and spice, sweet and addictive, and even being a flavour Thor remembers from the last night, he believes it must come from the wine they have drank. The kiss begins soft and sweet as if they are testing the waters of what can be done or not. But soon the soft peeks change to more intended kisses, with teeth capturing lips and tongues tracing the curves of their mouths. Soon they are eating the other’s soul through their mouths, kissing, nipping, lapping, pulling, with their tongues battling for dominance. It is familiar and Thor didn’t know why. Maybe he has dreamt about it too much and his brain has turned into memories some of those dreams? But that hot and wet tongue inside his mouth is making him forget about anything but the desired man on his arms.

 

Mischief pushes him away at last, breaking the kiss but not the contact, “Now that we are on the same wave, you have my permission to keep talking about how much you like me.” The smirk on his face is back, the way his face lights up with mischief giving him the perfect reason for the well chosen nickname.

 

“You really don’t care?”

 

Mischief’s long fingers slide down from Thor’s neck to trace his jawline, following it up and down while he studies the man in front of him, “Depends on how you decide to treat me tonight.”

 

“Ask and I will provide, my dear.”

 

Another giggle, this one making the hair at the back of Thor’s neck stand up in attention, “Oh, I have a blank cheque? I like it.” He chuckles again, the same hand that has been playing with Thor’s beard moves to his nape, pulling the delicate hairs on it and making the taller man tilt back his head, “Then I have several ideas I’m sure we can carry out on this  room.” His mouth follows the curve of Thor’s neck, lips sucking softly over the pulse point, his nose moving aside the shirt to give him more room to work before the tongue traces the hard muscles. Thor whines when he feels that wet tongue the first time, closing his eyes and letting him take from him whatever he wants. The next words said against the wet skin, making Thor shiver, but he didn’t know if it was because of the coldness of his breath or the meaning of his words, “I want to taste every inch of that glorious body, Thor. I want to swallow you so deep I can’t breathe, want to drink every drop of the pearly nectar you can give me. And then I want you to fuck me against that mirror, hard enough to keep me feeling you tomorrow.”

 

Thor’s arms around Mischief tighten, pulling him closer, “If I have fallen asleep on my table, don’t wake me up. I like this dream.”

 

“Sappy.” Thor kisses his temple sweetly, his hands still pressing him against his body. “I will assume Serpent told you about our origins, right?” When Thor nods, Mischief pushes away enough to look him into the eye. “What do you know about my native land?” A shrug is his answer, and Mischief laughs before winking at him. “Then I hope I will not scare you away with my magic.”

 

“Love, you will need to grow a second head and several tails to scare me away. And let's be honest, now that I had a taste of your mouth, I will endure having to deal with more than one.”

 

“How romantic.” The way his lips twitch up while saying it takes all the irony to the words, making both laugh softly. His hand leaves Thor’s shoulder, closing in a fist between them, all the mischief leaving his face in a heartbeat, “Just promise me you will not run from me now.”

 

Thor’s hand slides until he cups Mischief’s face, “My lovely dancer. If I can’t stay away when I haven’t had a taste of you, do you believe I will go away now that I know how you feel under my fingers? Not a chance.”

 

Mischief smiles to him sweetly before raising the same fist, opening the fingers one by one, the green light around them intensifying until it covers his full hand. “You are a sweet talker.”

 

“Never been known by my silver tongue, but it is working?”

 

The green light grows in intensity, the vibration of it noticeable for Thor even at this distance, “Pretty much. Now let me go, sit back and enjoy the show, will you?” The blush on Thor’s face when he looks over his shoulder to the couch must be signal enough, and with a little giggle, the couch turns into a bed in front of Thor’s eyes, the light of Mischief’s magic dissipating in the air while he gasps in surprise, “Better?”

 

“Much. Thank you.” Still wary of the new furniture, Thor slides down his hands from Mischief’s body and take the few steps separating him from the new bed, touching it with reverent fingers. The mattress is hard and the silky material of the sheets look real enough. Thor sits on it, feeling strangely comfy in something conjured from the air a second ago. 

 

With the next heartbeat, his eyes lay on Mischief again, and his surroundings disappear from his mind. The dancer is moving his fingers the same way he does on the stage, but this time the light remains, painting runes on it that shine and pulse around it while he moves. From somewhere to his right music comes alive, and Mischief’s hip dances with it. The rhythm of it is sinuous, almost like the sound of the sea, relaxing but powerful, and every swing of his body is impressive as the waves breaking against a rocky cliff. And then the pulsing energy of the magic around him reaches Thor, feeling it like a featherless caress over his skin, the soft pulse of it making him almost purr. Mischief keeps turning and twisting with the music, the runes around him growing and moving higher, until the bright green symbols covers the full ceiling. The dancer has stop his moves to lock his gaze on the awed one of Thor. With a little twitch up of his mouth, he raises his hands over his head, a graceful twist of his wrists making the runes melt into a sparkling green rain. When it reaches Mischief’s body, his clothes melt with it too, disappearing from his perfect body slowly. The shoulders appear first, the white skin on it making Thor fingers itch to touch. His pecs and rosy nipples are next. Not a single hair disturbs the beautiful lines of his body. A perfect belly button in an even more perfect abs is next. Thor’s eyes can’t stop for long in a single inch of skin. The lithe waist draws his attention for too much time, his mind already picturing his hands there, keeping him close and covering it almost completely. Then the hip bones appear and Thor can’t keep the moan at bay. He is too perfect to be real, and he can’t believe how lucky he is to have the chance to see him like this, free of the stage and making his show just for him. Strangely the black boxers he wears survive the magical rain, making Thor smile in earnest. 

He can picture himself peeling them off with his teeth. Soon that thought is erased thanks to the long, long legs showing inch by inch. He wants to run his tongue on him from tip to toe, not forgetting a single corner of his sinful body. By the time the green light stops falling from the ceiling, Thor is breathless and grasping the sheets under his hands with white knuckling force. “You are too perfect to be real.”

 

Mischief closes the distance to the bed, standing in front of him at arm's reach, “But I am. The real one. Will you accept me as I am?”

 

Thor grabs him with enough force to make him stutter, pulling him to the bed and rolling them until he is pinning him against the bed. His hands ends on his hair and lower back while his eyes, almost black with passion and need, seem to be looking directly into Mischief’s soul. “Darling, I need not to accept you. You already own me.”

 

Mischief launches himself against Thor without a word, sealing their mouths again. And the blond man takes it gladly, giving him the same measure of passion with every swipe of their tongues. His hands roam over the naked skin under his care, groaning when he finds a strong muscle to follow or a soft curve to trace. Mischief’s hands try to do the same, but Thor’s clothes are still in place and after a little grunt of discontent, the pulse of his magic touches Thor again before his clothes vanish, leaving him naked and feeling every single inch of skin from Mischief’s body. Both groan into the kiss the same moment their chest touch, hands increasing the pace of their roaming, trying to reach as far as possible without disentangling their bodies. It takes mere minutes to have them gasping and dreading for more, and so they move to do it. Mischief forces Thor into his back again, and he straddles him, his still clothed ass pressing the hard cock enough to extract a little moan from the blond man. “Gods, I need you, Thor. Take me, please.”

 

“Gladly.” Strong hands slide inside Mischief’s trousers, grabbing that perfect ass he has dreamed about so many times before. It is even better in reality, and he squeezes it while pushing him over his groin, enjoying too much the little whine he extracts from the dancer. Those same hands pull him high, making him slide until his hard member is in front of Thor’s face. He mouths it over the cloth, the pulsing cock twitching with every touch of his lips, every scratch of his teeth. The salty flavour of his precome is coating the material and Thor can taste it, moaning into the mess he is creating before closing his mouth completely over the head of the cock in front of him. Mischief has landed on his hands and is having a hard time to keep his hips still. Thor stops for a moment just to look up at him, the silly smile on his face telling his partner how much is he enjoying his undoing. But that short respite is what Mischief needed. The green light shines on his eyes and a heartbeat later the hot and hard member lands on his lips. A gasp escapes Thor’s throat at the feel and he returns his attention to his previous task, now even more focused on it. His mouth, now that it can engulf the desired price for real, opens gladly to welcome it inside. The hot lips close around the head while he sucks, trying to bob his head as much as he can in that position, his hands still keeping Mischief’s hips in place. 

 

“Fuck, Thor.” The breathless words make Thor want to swallow him whole, and he tries it, raising his head while angling him higher over him. And he achieves it. The moment the tip of his cock reaches the back of his throat, both moan, the vibration of it making Mischief shiver on his arms. The dancer pulls off from him, falling again on his hips gasping for air, “Enough! Take me, now. I need you.”

 

Thor’s hands are moving up and down his chest, enjoying a tad too much the spiked rhythm of his heart and the broken breaths, “Do you have a condom?” The blush on Mischief’s face deepens, but he raises a hand to conjure a bottle of lube and a package of condoms. “Useful those powers of you, my dear.” The words make a shy smile appear on his partner’s face, and Thor takes it as a little victory. It changes to a huff when Thor pushes him to a side with a harsh move of his hips, landing on their sides on the bed. Grabbing the bottle of lube, he distracts Mischief with his tongue while he fights with the opener until he can put a small quantity on his soon to be lover’s tummy, making him hiss with the coldness. He smiles into the kiss, delving his tongue deeper into the willing mouth asking for forgiveness. He closes the bottle and put it down before using the lube on Mischief’s body to coat his fingers. Not a second later the dancer has his leg propped up into Thor’s shoulder, making the other man groan. His fingers attack first the hardened cock, still slick from his spit and the few drops of precome he has spilled since he stopped sucking them. He pumps it several times before moving lower to play with the perfect round balls. His fingers keep moving lower, first teasing the perineum with soft swifts of his fingers before pressing hard against it making Mischief moan into the kiss. The now warm lube coated fingers keeps moving lower until he finds the puckered hole, tracing it with soft caresses that makes the dancer groan. When he pushes the tip of the first finger inside Mischief, his head falls to the bed, breaking the kiss with a loud mewl. Thor takes it as an invitation to keep working him open and so he pushes his finger deeper, enjoying the little sounds the dancer makes. His moans are enticing enough to distract him from his own needs, and he keeps a steady pace, moving his finger in and out until the muscles relax enough to make the movement easier for him. He adds then another finger, enjoying the feeling of Mischief’s nails clawing on his back at the intrusion, the soft gasp he makes before moving his hips searching for more, and that's the the signal Thor has been waiting for. With the other’s man permission, Thor fingers fuck him with strong moves of his hand, burying his fingers to the last knuckle with every one. Mischief is babbling in an unknown language, but Thor knows he is not asking for him to stop, the way his hips are dancing in sync with his hand and the nails still working on his back taletelling enough. 

 

He is about to insert a third finger when Mischief pats his back, “Stop it. I’m ready.”

 

“No, you are not.”

 

Mischief growls, extracting himself from Thor’s hand and pushing him to the bed again, “I was ready before we crossed the door, you moron. Now fuck me and let me feel the burn of your cock on me.”

 

One can’t say no to that speech, and Thor is so weakened by his own need to let his brain control his actions. With a nod to Mischief, he searches the condoms blindly, his breath catching in his chest when the dancer sits on his thighs, waiting for him, a hand touching his own cock with laziness. When at last Thor finds the package, he fights with it until he can open it and tear one, freeing the condom from the little bag. Trembling fingers struggle to put the condom on his cock while Mischief’s eyes follow every one of his moves with hungry eyes. The dancer recovers part of the lube still staining his tummy to put it in the stiff member in front of him, making Thor moan at the touch. The first time those fingers wraps themselves around his cock he feels like fainting. It is too warm and perfect and familiar… again his brain must be making up with false memories from his dreams, but he didn’t care. One didn’t ask about perfection, only takes it while it last. Before he can dwell too much on his own stupid thoughts, Mischief slides up, sitting directly over his hips and using the same hand he has used to coat him in lube to guide the hard cock into his hole. He is wet and open, but not enough to take him easily, but the dancer achieves it with an easiness that makes Thor groan. The tip of his cock breaches him at the first try, and Mischief keeps him there for several seconds, his legs trembling at the effort to stay upright. When the pressure around the head lessens, Mischief goes an inch lower and then another, taking deep breaths between every move to give them time to get used to the overwhelming sensation. Thor’s hands have found a new home on his hips, helping him to stay on the position he wants with trembling arms. He needs to be buried on that scorching heat more than breathing, but he will let the other man to set the pace, not wanting to hurt him. 

 

After what looks like ages, Mischief is sitting flat on Thor’s hips, the cock buried to the hilt into him pulsing with barely contained pleasure. The dancer is breathing is ragged, his hands landing on Thor’s chest with tremors moving up and down his body, “You feel--”

 

“Perfect.” Thor finishes the phrase for him, pulling him down until he can kiss him, knees bending to keep the contact as deep as possible while they kiss with passion. But it seems Mischief is as eager as him to keep going because less than a minute after his hips raise slowly, letting the cock slide off from him before falling back with a harsh move, making them break the kiss to yell. That single act opened the doors to hell, with both moving in earnest, Thor pushing up with all his might and Mischief keeping his hips still to let the other man pierce him at his own pace. Soon this is not enough to any of them, passion clouding their minds and making the single thought of bringing the other completion to the front of the brains. Thor sits up, dragging Mischief with him. The new angle makes him go deeper if possible, and the dancer arches his back in pleasure when he touches his insides in all the correct ways. Thor keeps moving his hips up, but his arms move the lithe form of Mischief up and down his hard cock easily. Their ends is coming closer if the way their breaths is turning into ragged gasps and loud moans is any indicative. Thor keeps working himself inside the other man, but forces his brain to work for some seconds, “Tell me your name, my dear. I want to scream your real name when I come, please.”

 

Mischief looks at him surprised, hands moving to cup his face while he keeps taking him, passion growing on him at high speed. When he senses himself close, so close he can touch it with his fingers, he mutters his name, “Loki…”

 

That single word makes Thor’s world explode. Loki. Serpent told her name was Loki. But before he can think about it twice, the hole around him clamps him in a deadly grasp while hot trails of seed lands on his chest, making him forget everything except the wonderful man in his arms and the melodious name he wants to scream. And so he does when his own orgasm hits him hard and fast like a punch, “Loki! Fuck!”

 

His world turns into white light for a second or maybe a minute or an hour. He didn’t know and didn’t care. The pulsing hole is still hugging his spent cock and warm hands are caressing his chest and face lovingly. After a few minutes of basking on the good sensation, Thor’s brain works properly again, and he has to ask. “Loki… she told me her name was Loki.”

 

Raising enough to look him in the eye, Mischief rests his forearms on Thor’s chest before giving him a sad smile, “And it is. I know you already suspect it but can’t understand it. She and I are the same person. In fact hers is the form I was born with, but never felt comfortable on it. I have been a prodigy in the magical arts from a young age, and the shapeshifting spells were the first ones I mastered. I’m Serpent and Mischief. I’m man and woman. I’m soft and hard, sweet and bitter. I’m everything and can be nothing. I’m Loki of Jotunheim.”

 

Thor takes in every word, knowing them true from the first touch of his fingers on his skin, on the way he feels like coming home to a well known place. But that sad smile on his face makes him think about it. Maybe that's the reason he feared to scare him? Not a chance, not at all. With Loki still impaled in his half hard member, Thor turns them until he is on top, pinning him to the bed with his legs wrapped around his waist. “And you can be the king of my world if you want. You are the duality of this world, Loki. This is nothing to be ashamed of. You are perfect in every form you will take. Your words will be the song of the heavens if you spell them to me, whatever the voice you use. Your skin will be perfect covering hard muscles or round breasts.” A single tear falls from Loki’s eyes at the words and Thor swipes it away with a kiss, “I want you whole, with you fears and your securities, your virtues and imperfections. Because you are Loki of Jotunheim, the owner of my heart.” Loki gasps at the words, his face softening when the sweet meaning reaches his heart. “Now my dear, care to explain the little game of fucking me silly in your female form?”

 

Loki chuckles to the question, pushing his shoulder playfully, “Oaf. It was a test. I needed to know if you truly are enraptured with me in my desired form, not just like something fleeting and casual. I can give you that in Serpent’s form, my heart didn’t live inside of her, but I can’t risk my heart, the real one if I doubted of your true feelings.”

 

Thor chuckles, hiding his blush on Loki’s neck, “Then I need to be grateful for my stupid tongue slipping your name instead of hers yesterday, huh?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

A soft kiss is planted on Loki’s neck, “I think I will gift my tongue a big, very big ice cream later. Care to join me?”

 

“Darling, I’m with you for as long as you want me.”

 

Thor kisses him silly again, their twin smiles making both giggle nervously when they break the kiss, “Then get ready for a long life of sappy lines and cuddling, my love.”


End file.
